Fashion Kills
by K00K
Summary: The phrase is never thought to be taken literally. In some cases, it should. Warning: Mature themes, offensive language, implied slash.


**Title:** Fashion Kills  
**Author:** K00K  
**Rating:** T  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Kurt, Puck.  
**Genre:** Friendship/Angst  
**Warning: **Mature themes (anorexia/bulimia), offensive language, implied slash.  
**Spoilers:** None.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee.  
**Author Notes:** I'm always complaining about how I write too much angst. This really isn't helping my case. I give you promises of a happy ending, though!  
**Summary:** The phrase is never thought to be taken literally. In some cases, it should.

**Word Count:** 3,529

**Fashion kills.**

Everyone's heard that phrase before. It's metaphorical, of course. Being introduced to fashion kills your, well, non-fashion sense. It's never thought to be taken literally.

In some cases, though, it should.

Kurt Hummel has been obsessed with fashion as long as he could remember. Even when he was a little boy, he would marvel at his mother's high-end clothes and perfectly styled hair. He wanted to look _just_ like her, be just like her. She always walked around with a woman's grace he pined after, something he practiced in secret when he was alone. (He was proud say that he had perfected it by the time he was sixteen.) Her light blonde hair was always blow-dried and sculpted perfectly, making him hate his shit-colored locks more and more every day.

The best thing about his mother, though, was that she was the sweetest woman he knew. Since his father made more than decent money, owning _the_ best auto shop in Lima and the surrounding area, she stayed home with him all day. They would wake up around nine, make breakfast together, and then she would ask him to help her pick out her outfit for the day.

This had become his _favorite_ activity with his mother. They would play around in her room, dressing her up in different outfits and jewelry and makeup. This was how he learned all of his tricks. His favorite outfit on her was her strapless black and white polka dot dress with the bright pink blazer, rolled up at the sleeves. Blazers were considered one of the most popular items in high fashion in the '90s, so she wore things like that a lot. When they went shopping, she'd even gotten him some toddler's blazers. He wore them as often as he could.

When he was six years old, his mother died in a car crash. She was driving home from a late-night grocery store run and a drunken bastard slammed into her just as she hit the middle of the intersection. Both of them died instantly on impact. Kurt had never cried so hard and so long in his life. His father tried his best to console him, but the two only really had her in common.

By the time Kurt was ten, he had officially decided to honor his mother by continuing her undeniable fashion sense. It was something that defined her and their relationship. Of course, other boys his age weren't exactly keen on his new fashion statements. At first, they ignored him. This was hard, since everyone has some sort of mutual friendship in elementary school, but they didn't know how to deal with their friend suddenly coming into school with bright pink shirts and blazers. Why couldn't he just wear jeans and t-shirts like the rest of them?

This continued until middle school. Kurt kept up with the latest fashion trends, slowly turning it into an obsession. He followed models and fashion designers and all of the shows on television about it all. One thing he had noticed frequently was how _skinny_ the models were. It made him feel like a fat lump. Baby fat was _not_ high fashion.

In sixth grade, the boys in his grade finally began to rebel against his look. It began as snide remarks as he walked down the hall. He could take that. His mother always told him that it didn't matter what other people said, as long as he loved himself. And he did love himself. To an extent.

When the taunting didn't break him, they revolted in a physical manner. Kurt's first day of seventh grade was his first "dumpster dive". The boys, outraged by his skinny jeans, called him a faggot and tossed him in the stinking filth. Kurt didn't go to homeroom, or his first period, or his second. It wasn't until he faintly heard the third period bell that he wiped his tears away and crawled out of the garbage, sulking into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he arrived home, his father was still at work. He went to the half-bath down in his bedroom-basement and stared at himself in the shiny mirror, taking in his appearance.

To him, he looked fucking awesome. Just like the magazine models he'd seen last week.

To everyone else, he looked like a stupid faggot. It didn't made sense to him. Glancing at the magazine cut outs taped to his mirror, he grabbed his toothbrush and went over to the toilet. This was the start of Kurt's bulimia.

Kurt's problem stretched into high school, and no one suspected a thing. He obsessed over what he ate, and if it wasn't to his satisfactory, he went home and threw it all up. In some sick way, he was still honoring his mother. Being super thin was in fashion, wasn't it? And he wanted to credit her through his fashion statements. When he joined the Cheerios, and people besides his tormentors began to really _notice_ him, they assumed that he was naturally skinny. Some people were just born like that. He was lucky.

And even when Kurt had friends, real honest-to-God _friends_, no one said anything. Mercedes knew, he could tell. She would watch him nibble on his celery sticks as if it she had wanted to say something, but never did. He wondered if she really cared or just wanted to avoid confrontation. In her defense, he would have denied it. He wasn't _in_ denial-he knew exactly what he was doing, how unhealthy it was-but he didn't want to have to _stop_. Fitting into double zero jeans made him feel good about himself, even if he was fucking _starving_.

Finn didn't start noticing until they were living together when their parents got together. He tried to bring it up once, but Kurt was _so_ good at acting clueless, he retreated almost immediately and went back to his video games. He never brought it up again, and Kurt thanked the heavens. It would be more embarrassing than ever for him to have to confess this to his long-time crush.

More years passed, and Kurt remained his small, frail self. Of course, he stayed active to, well, keep from dying. He was a _fantastic_ dancer, so that kept him moving. He wasn't as energetic, but he managed. Throughout his last few years, he had befriended Noah 'Puck' Puckerman, to his shock and amusement. The two had found some common ground, and by graduation, Kurt would admit to having developed a small crush on the jock.

During the summer before they would have to part ways (Kurt was off to New York University; Puck was starting night classes at the community college), the two grew closer than they had expected. They were lounging in Kurt's bedroom, one flipping through a magazine while the other surfed several fashion blogs.

"I know we've had this argument before, but I don't know how you can obsess over this stuff. It's just clothes," Puck mumbled, tossing the glossy pages down and stretching out on the bed. The humid weather had made both of them too lazy to do anything else.

"It's not just clothes," Kurt retorted, spinning in his chair. "It's _fashion_. It's a statement. It's art. What you're wearing is _just clothes_." He gestured to Puck's ragged jeans and Fruit of the Loom white t-shirt. "Anyone could design a white t-shirt and jeans. It's child's play in the fashion world. It takes a true artist's eye to successfully bring back Bermuda shorts." His hand smoothed down the leg of his black shorts, satisfied with the feeling of the fabric. High fashion was like fucking endorphins to him.

"I have a pair _just like that_ at home that I paid about thirty bucks less for," Puck quipped, eyes raking up and down Kurt's outfit, soaking it in. Kurt scoffed, turning back to the GQ website.

"Yeah, from the Salvation Army."

"The money goes to homeless people! How is that a crime?"

"It's a _fashion_ crime," Kurt grinned, not bothering to gauge Puck's reaction. The tanner man sighed, defeated, rolling over to bury his head in the fresh white linens. He loved going to Kurt's house, it was always nice and clean. And there was always something uncharacteristically manly about the smell of the smaller boy. He wouldn't deny the fact that it turned him on just a little bit.

"If you like the way I smell that much, I can lend you a bottle of my cologne," Kurt smirked, watching him with a quirked eyebrow.

Shit. Was he talking out loud? Or maybe his sniffing was…too loud? That's embarrassing. Play it off. "I'd rather smell it on _you_." The boy's ears tinged just the slightest pink, but otherwise he showed no other reaction.

"How sweet."

Puck was about to respond with something witty, he wanted to _so badly_, but he kept his mouth shut. This had been happening a lot lately. The jock just couldn't get enough of their comical banter, their heartfelt conversations, or even the smirk Kurt sent him when trying to tease him about something. It was absolutely terrifying, he was sure that the gay was rubbing off on him. Of course, he never said this out loud, for it was highly offensive, even if he meant it in a joking manner. But what if it was true?

An occasional wet dream about Kurt was something he had become accustomed to. It was almost as common as wet dreams about various girls. Yes, this made it very awkward when he thought about them around the small boy, but for the sake of their friendship, it was never brought up. It was beyond frustrating, though.

He cared about the boy. A lot. In their past two years, he had dutifully protected him from his fellow jocks, knocking some sense into their heads. The more he hung out with Kurt, the more confident and accepting he found himself becoming. It was a nice change of pace. He also found himself noticing things about Kurt that he hadn't before.

Like how vivacious his ass was.

Or how perfect his hair always seemed to be.

Or how damn _skinny_ the boy was.

The latter had him worried beyond belief. He'd be damned to admit it, but he had spent a night or two fretting about what Kurt had eaten that day, for most days it was next to nothing. Every day at lunch, he had celery or carrot sticks, a small cup of ranch dressing to dip them in and some sort of health fruit drink. On days he had dinner at Kurt's house, or if they ate out, he ate nothing more than a variation of a salad and lemonade. Breakfast was a coffee, cream and two sugars. Snacks did not exist.

He had dropped hints. Making jokes, blatantly eyeing the food skeptically, commenting on his figure…the latter was always being taken gleefully as a compliment. It was starting to freak him out and he had to know.

"I'm _hungry_," Puck moaned, rubbing a hand over his hardened abs. He watched in amusement as Kurt's eyes rounded a bit when his shirt rode up. He was a stud, everyone reacted that way.

"Go home," Kurt mumbled, turning back to the website. "You say that every time you come over. If you're so damn hungry, stay home."

"But I like spending time with you," Puck pouted, sitting up and scooting over to the edge of the bed. "Because you're so _fun_ to be around."

"Hardy har. Go get a glass of lemonade or something."

"I'm _hungry,_ not _thirsty._"

"You're like a little kid sometimes, did you know that?"

"It's not my fault you don't have _food_ in your house-like, ever. Especially since Finn left early for college orientation and your parents went on that second honeymoon," he mumbled, knowing he had hit home. If you wanted to start an emotional conversation with Kurt, bring up his mother. It worked every time.

"Carole is _not_ my real parent. You know that," Kurt almost whispered, idly making boxes with his cursor on his desktop. He had turned his back more towards the Jew, voice suddenly small and thick.

"I know, dude, it just slipped out. Sorry." He wasn't too sorry. It was working. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

He heard Kurt let out an overpowered breath, and with a moment's hesitation, the boy turned around in his chair. "Yes, Noah?"

"Uhm…I've been thinking about this for awhile, and…I just wanted to know if-like…Are you okay?" he stumbled, the words just not wanting to leave his mouth correctly. He wanted to rephrase them, but Kurt beat him to it.

"Am I okay? I'm fine. Have I been acting different?" He seemed concerned now, eyebrows furrowed as he recalled his behavior the last few months.

"Well…no, you haven't, but it's just something…that…I noticed about you."

Kurt knew what he was going to say; he could see the comprehension click in his bright blue-green-gray eyes. He suddenly felt defeated; all of his suspicions confirmed in one worried glance. "I'm fine."

"Are you anorexic?" He didn't want to ask it yet-it wasn't the right time, he hadn't prepared himself or Kurt enough for the question. He watched those eyes that always confused him turn to panic, growing wide and trying to tear away from his own gaze.

"I-No, Noah, you're being stupid."

"Am I? You barely eat honest-to-God food, your kitchen is basically empty, I once thought I heard you in the bathroom barfing after trying one of my brownies. Given, at the time I thought you really hated them that much, but I know better now. My brownies are fucking awesome." He paused, trying to regain his train of thought. "Tell me the truth."

Tears streaked down the pale boy's clear as day face as he visibly shrunk into his big, leather chair. He was overwhelmed by Puck's words and tone, anyone could see that. In a more endearing motion, he beckoned the boy to join him on the bed. Just a tad more than timid, he complied, sitting in the spot he usually slept in. Puck moved himself back so they were both sitting in the middle of the bed, cross legged and staring at the other expectantly.

"Tell me the truth," he repeated, making sure his tone was far less harsh than it was before. Kurt shifted, swallowing a wad of excess spit before going to play with the material of his pink oxford. On a side note, Puck had to admit that Kurt rocked pink.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, and the words came flowing out like vomit. He told Puck everything; everything from his mother's love of fashion to Finn questioning him about the very subject. Puck almost cried himself when Kurt revealed that his first bulimic occurrence was the day of his first dumpster dive. He had been there. In fact, he had been the one to slam the lid shut and yell out the last 'faggot!' If it were possible to hate himself even more for that day, he would.

When he finished his story, the boy was a sobbing mess. Some of his hair had moved out of place and his cheeks were terribly blemished and flushed, the only sounds coming from him the occasional sob or whimper. Sometime during his rambling, Puck had pulled him into a hug and held him there, thinking that not letting go would make up for his past self's unacceptable behavior. "I hate myself so much for it, Noah. I can't stop though. I know it's wrong and it's so unhealthy for my body, but…when I look at myself in the mirror and see that I'm as skinny as the picture taped next to me, it's like…no one can touch me. It makes me so happy to see myself so beautiful…"

Puck sighed, stroking the crying boy's hair in an attempt to comfort and quiet him. The whimpers eventually subsided and they sat there, just holding one another. "I…I think you're beautiful just the way you are." It was so quiet, even though his mouth was just above his ear, Kurt had to strain himself to hear it.

"Yeah, because I'm like this now. What if I was fat? Would I still be beautiful then?"

"Kurt, there _is_ an in between. Just because you're not sickly thin doesn't mean you're fat. I'm just worried about you," Puck mumbled, feeling his cheeks go red. He'd just realized how close they really were, physically and emotionally.

"Noah, you don't understand," he hiccupped. "To make it in the fashion world, you have to look the part. If I don't _look_ like the fierce fashionista I am, I can't _be_ the fierce fashionista I am. It's how shit goes."

"No. Kurt, you're so fucking skinny…I don't know how to make you understand. Especially since this is some sick way to tribute your mom…" Kurt whimpered, suddenly extremely ashamed of himself. Well…good. Maybe he could guilt some sense into him. He would understand some day. "If you wanna pay homage to your mom through fashion, that's perfectly okay. But would she want you to be like…hurting yourself like this?"

"But…she…it's…"

Puck pushed the boy's chin up so he could send him a hard, no-bullshit glare.

"No," he mumbled, tucking his head back under Puck's chin. He tried not to smile as his hair tickled his throat.

"You need help. You need to tell your dad-"

"What? No, _no_. I-I can't do that, I…he'd be so disappointed in me. You're already disappointed in me, I can't take much more." Puck looked down at him, eyebrows furrowing a bit. He didn't know he meant that much to him. "Please? Can we just wait until I'm a little bit better to tell him?"

Puck sighed. "Yeah, fine. But I'm moving some of my shit in here. You need _help_. Someone to like-you know-motivate you. What do you say?" he offered, tucking his head down in the crook of Kurt's neck. He could practically _feel_ the sexual tension going on between them, but chose to ignore it. There were more important matters going on.

"Yeah…yes. I…I just…" Everything went quiet. Puck almost didn't want to speak.

"What?"

"I'm just…really grateful you care enough to ask. I just…sort of assumed that no one cared at all. Mercedes knows, but she never said anything. I think Finn knows too."

"Finn? Really? I had no idea he was so perceptive."

"I applaud your suddenly expanded vocabulary." Despite the fact that he was being blatantly insulted, Puck grinned, really just glad that Kurt was falling into his old self again.

"C'mon, let's go to the store. We'll get some real food and I'll cook you something healthy and fattening."

"Noah," Kurt moaned warily, not at all keen on the idea.

"Kurt," he returned in the same manner, pushing the boy off and standing up. He pushed himself up off of the bed and threw his sneakers on. "You gotta promise me you won't pussy out. I don't wanna be leaving my little sister to fend for herself for nothing, you know? 'Cause you're like-" He stopped himself, hoping Kurt would drop it. He really didn't want to do this right now…

But Kurt, being the only slightly self-absorbed diva he was, couldn't let a possible compliment go to waste. At the moment, he needed it. "Because I'm what?"

Puck sighed, making a point not to turn around. It was bad enough he had to say it out loud. Their friendship was usually an unspoken bond. They didn't need constant reminders. "You're just like-important to me and shit, you know? Finn and I still haven't really resolved shit 'cause…I don't know…I guess time doesn't heal all wounds. So you…you're…"

"I'm like your best friend," Kurt finished, nodding to himself. Puck glanced at him, just wanting the sappy, stupid moment to end. Yeah, Kurt meant a lot to him. A _lot_. More than the countertenor would ever know. But he didn't need to know that, and this whole situation was cutting it _way_ too close.

"Move your ass, let's get some food in that pathetic thing you call a stomach," he snapped, though the playfulness was just skirting his tone. He heard Kurt scoff, the bed squeaking as he stood.

"If I didn't know you were being so mean for my own good, I wouldn't be speaking to you right now," the shorter boy sneered, sauntering passed the jock up the stairs. Puck would one hundred percent deny letting his eyes linger on the boy's ass.

"But I am, and you are," he grinned, tailing him. He didn't respond. "Kurt."

He turned from the front door, eyebrow perched.

"I just…care about you and shit, okay? You know that?"

Kurt smiled, holding out a pale hand. "Come on, let's go."

Puck stared at the offer, coming to a decision quickly. He engulfed the frail hand into his large one, following the boy out to his car. Neither of them knew it just yet, but this was a _huge_ turning point in their relationship.


End file.
